Chapter 41

After being ejected from the Sterling estate, Drake stood with his mother, Margaret, and Sienna outside. Margaret was near tears. "Son, what do we do now? Have we ruined everything with the Sterlings? What about the investment?" Sienna trembled. "Will they retaliate? The Sterlings are so powerful." Drake remained silent, his expression vacant and lifeless, like a puppet with severed strings.

Later that evening, as Asher drove Thalia home, she hesitated outside her building. "About today…" He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. His voice was low and vulnerable. "When he said you could have been married and happy if he’d known your identity… I was afraid. If you—"

"There is no 'if'," Thalia gently interrupted, meeting his dark eyes. "Don't worry about things that never happened." She added seriously, "Besides, I never planned to marry Drake anyway."

Asher's eyes brightened. "Really?"

Thalia nodded, smiling. A slight shiver ran through her in the night air, but her eyes sparkled. "Back then, I never considered marrying Drake. But now, I'm looking forward to our engagement ceremony."

Asher slipped off his jacket, wrapping it around her as he pulled her close. "So am I."

Drake drove away alone, disappearing into the night. Sienna drove Margaret back to their hotel, both women shaken by their humiliation. As they exited their car in the underground parking garage, they were suddenly seized from behind. Before either could scream, bags were pulled over their heads, plunging them into darkness.

They awoke in a dimly lit room, forced face-down against a glass table. A heavily tattooed man lounged on a sofa across from them, one leg casually crossed over the other. He smiled menacingly. "Let's have some fun. Share a drink with me?"

Margaret, still affecting an air of wealthy superiority, began to hurl insults. "How dare you! Do you know who I am? When my husband—"

The tattooed man's smile didn't falter. He nodded to his associate, a man in a black suit, who grabbed Margaret by the hair and delivered two sharp slaps. Margaret's cheeks burned as she clutched her face. "Who are you people? Why are we here?"

"Tsk tsk," the man said theatrically, cleaning his ears. "Such a noisy old woman. One more word, and we'll solve that problem permanently." He produced a Swiss Army knife, letting the blade catch the light.

Margaret fell silent, her legs trembling. Sienna remained pinned to the table as the man picked up a glass of wine, splashing it across her face. "Tonight's simple – finish every drop on this table, and you can leave."

"But I can't drink!" Margaret weakly protested.

The man's smile vanished. His men began forcing liquor down their throats. Despite their struggles, their grip was unyielding. Glass after glass, bottle after bottle, until their stomachs ached painfully.

The tattooed man pressed his knife against Sienna's cheek, just hard enough to indent the skin. "Watch who you cross in this city. Some people aren't as forgiving as others." Sienna's lip quivered; her face was bloodless with terror.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" he roared, making both women jump.

With the cold steel against their skin and their lives literally in his hands, they could only nod frantically. "Yes, yes, we understand," they whimpered.

Three days later, Sienna stood outside Drake's hotel suite, knocking softly. "Drake? Are you in there?"

Silence. Frowning, she called him. The phone rang endlessly before disconnecting. Since the incident at the Sterling estate, Drake had vanished—no responses to messages or calls, refusing to answer his door. The front desk confirmed he hadn't checked out.

"BANG! BANG! BANG!" She pounded harder. "Drake Ashcroft! I'm not leaving until you open this door!"

After ten minutes of relentless pounding, the door finally opened. A wave of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol hit her, making her gag. "God, what's that smell?" She pinched her nose.

Drake looked terrible—sunken, black-ringed eyes, unshaven, his face oily and unwashed. The stench of alcohol and sweat suggested he hadn't showered in days.

"What have you done to yourself?" Sienna asked, fighting nausea.

Drake's eyes were lifeless; his voice was hollow. "What do you want?"

"I've been worried sick about you." She pushed past him into the suite.

The heavy curtains were drawn, the room dark despite the midday hour. Empty bottles littered the living room; the ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, ashes scattered everywhere.

Sienna flicked on the lights, grimacing. She turned on the ventilation fan and yanked open the curtains. "Are you just going to waste away in here? What about Ashcroft Capital? Your father's been desperate for investment, but no company will touch us. Do you know why?"

She turned to face him. "Do you even know who Thalia's fiancé is? He's Asher Blackwood, heir to the Blackwood empire! His family has more influence than the Sterlings. One word from him, and no company in London dares invest in Ashcroft Capital."

Drake stood like a puppet with cut strings, his face blank and unresponsive. Frustrated by his silence, Sienna stormed out.

The room fell quiet. Drake stumbled deeper into the suite, his body numb. After so long in darkness, the sunlight made him dizzy; his tall frame swayed unsteadily. He stood at the window, staring blankly outside at the bright day.

Finally, he checked his phone—dozens of missed calls, countless unread messages. Mason's call came through. This time, Drake answered.

"Where have you been? Can't reach you anywhere," Mason said. "Did you get my messages?"

Drake's voice was hoarse. "Are you still in Paris?"

"Yeah, flying back tomorrow. Why?"

"Need you to buy something."

"Sure, what?" Mason paused. "What's wrong with your voice?"

Silence stretched between them.

"She's getting engaged," Drake said quietly.

"What? Who's getting engaged?"